Wings of Angels
by Dialux
Summary: They all sing songs, but it seems that Clint's the only one to hear them. Or: Clint is a mutant who can hear people's souls as songs and decides to tell the team.


_Steve Rogers_

* * *

Steve sings a clean melody, even in the middle of battle- the notes are rounded and clear. He grins when he hits a perfect pitch; at times he even manages to harmonize with Thor and the Hulk.

It's… It's almost like a _piano, _Clint thinks, because each note is rounded and perfect but at the same time, just a little weary. Just a little… dissonant.

There's black and white, cliché as it sounds, in Steve's actions.

Just like the keys of a piano.

* * *

_Thor_

* * *

Thor's music is like a goddamn _choir._

Clint gets a headache for the first couple times listening- the noise is just too discordant against the blood and guts and battle. But he learns to focus on the soaring elegance of the words instead of the jarring melody; Clint learns to see the grief behind Thor's effective bravado.

He realizes- in a sharp _ohmygod _moment- when Thor sees Loki that Thor _blames himself._

The choir softens into a murmur; the music almost drops away. Thor presses a hand against his brother's chalky skin, and Clint…

Where once he might have been tempted to put an arrow through Loki's eye, he just stands back and lets Thor take over.

There are things more important than vengeance, and family is one of them.

* * *

_Bruce Banner_

* * *

Bruce is two songs at the same time, so it takes some time for Clint to realize that the harsher melody is _Bruce, _and the softer one is _Hulk._

Which doesn't make a lot of sense, until he realizes that Bruce is probably one of the most arrogant persons he'll ever meet.

Bruce built a living out of looking for a way to recreate Steve's supersoldier serum- and when he couldn't find a legal method to test his creations, he tested it on _himself._

There really is a reason for Tony to like Bruce: despite the differences in the first impressions they give off, they're both more similar than different.

But Bruce's song is a sort of harsh fury- the notes fall from low to high and defy all expectance of where they're _supposed _to go, as if Bruce doesn't want to spend more time in a universe constrained by the laws everybody else takes for granted.

Hulk's melody is a tuneless whistle, almost a comforting one. Like…

Like a father, when he's content with what he is but unhappy with what could have been. He protects Bruce- an invisible cloak riding around his shoulders- and helps him reach his full potential.

All Clint thinks is, _don't we all wish our darkness was so visible?_

Honestly. Life would be so much easier if it was.

* * *

_Tony Stark_

* * *

Tony's is probably the one tune he would have guessed from the start.

Heavy rock, the music hanging in the air around him like a cloying scent; Tony doesn't know the meaning of _enough, _and it shows, in the ripping-loud sounds.

It takes Clint a couple months to recognize the tune of practiced discord under it all- it reminds him of bruises and glass and long nights in the circus. He makes it a point to avoid touching him after that, because he knows the way nights can seem too short and touch can seem too rough, especially after a panic attack.

The barbs Tony throws slide off his skin with watered-down ease. Steve reacts though, _every damn time- _and Clint's probably the only one who can hear the way their songs harmonize in their fury.

It'd be kinda funny, if, you know.

It weren't so sad.

* * *

_Natasha Romanoff_

* * *

Natasha's song is probably the song he'd never have expected.

Fury and Coulson and pretty much the entirety of SHIELD had asked him what he'd been thinking, when he took her in instead of killing her, and he'd told them there was something only those who had been on that path could see.

He'd _lied._

Because he'd seen the songs of practiced, ruthless killers, and they were oily things; they slid down his shoulder blades with practiced deadliness and would slit his throat with words alone if possible.

Natasha's music was- _is-_ a ballet: thrumming, rich, and above all, _pure._

No true assassin- though, certainly, she is one- would be able to have that as their _soul. _The people in the Red Room- her masters- had erased her and remade her into a tool fit for their purpose, but even in the depths of madness and despair, she held onto some shard of beauty.

He couldn't exactly walk away, when he knew that such a piece existed.

He couldn't _fire, _when he knew- knows- that it would have taken him far, far less to become dark- far less than Natasha fought against.

He hadn't understood at first, because she'd been glaring and scowling at all of them, and he hadn't been practiced enough to read it under the layers of deceptions she'd woven around herself.

But then he saw her fight, and all the pieces slotted into place.

She was- is- a born dancer, from the flick of her scarlet hair to the arch of her toes. And she drags that grace with her to the battlefield, where really- there shouldn't be any kind of beauty. And if there is… the beauty can only be found in stolen moments of admiration and awe and _perfection._

Natasha's beautiful _every single time._

He didn't… he _couldn't _understand how- or why.

But it is, and he doesn't exactly question it.

* * *

_Clint Barton_

* * *

The only person he ever tells about his… secret power- god, that sounds so _cliché- _is Coulson, but now Coulson's dead, and he isn't a loner anymore. It's painful, in a sense, to think about moving on, but he knows what Coulson would want, and that's Captain America to look on something he'd done with the tiniest hint of pride.

The Avengers Initiative had not been created by Fury alone- Phil was more of a fanboy than even _he'd _realized.

But, anyways. The reality is that Clint thinks the team deserves to know, and it's… honestly? It's time he began to trust again.

It's after a mission, and Stark is slumped over the table, drink in hand; Natasha and Steve and Bruce are writing their reports for the mission at said table; Thor is outside communicating with Heimdall.

There will never be a better time, so he lifts an arm over his eyes and says- no, _drawls- _into the ghostly silence, "I think we all have superpowers."

Natasha glares, but he remains unfazed. He's been on the receiving end of far, far worse.

"Stark's is his mind, Rogers' is his body, Nat's a born manipulator, Banner- sorry, dude, but you turn into a green monster- your superpower's your… green monster, and Thor's a _god, _did we need anything more said on the matter?"

Stark is the only one listening, it seems, and he retorts, "And yours are your bow and arrow, let me guess."

"Nope." And maybe there is a hint of something more in his tone, because Natasha shifts, green eyes finally taking notice of everything he's said.

"Your eyesight," Cap says quietly, leaning back on the chair.

They're all listening- quite suddenly- and Clint nearly loses his nerve. Then he imagines Coulson standing next to him, and courage rushes through him.

Also, that sounds a hell of a lot better than _'he knows Natasha would recognize any lies or cop-outs' _so...

The end result is the same.

"My ears," he says, without quirking a smile. It is imperative that they understand, because they're his _teammates, _and he does trust them with his life, so he _has _to trust them with his secrets- at least a _little. _"I've had this superpower for… a long time."

He remembers the time he got the power: a rain-drenched alleyway in the middle of Manhattan, a slithering witch, and a desperate boy who wanted the world and never, ever got it- Clint screamed and screamed and _screamed _for weeks until the noises and sensitivity of his ears wore down, but there are still times when he thinks his ears might bleed.

It's why he likes being a sniper; it's far from the crowd but close enough that he's interacting with them; some part of him feels like a god on a pedestal when he aims his arrows at his targets.

He'd told himself it was a game, and nothing more- and then he felt himself slip, once, in Baghdad- began to enjoy the kill rather than get it over with. He might not have noticed or cared, but the songs stopped, and he hadn't even realized what a comfort they were until they were gone. When he walked through a crowd, nothing was heard. Nobody else really noticed amidst the bloodshed, but what had started as fun had grown into something that could have consumed him.

He turned himself into SHIELD- they think they found him, but no good assassin would be found if they didn't _want_ to be- the next week. The songs began anew a day later, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

SHIELD is his safety net.

"I… can hear songs," he says into the aching silence, feeling their eyes on him. Not judgmental, but all he can think is _not yet, _and doesn't that just _scald him? _"I don't know- I don't know who gave it to me, or why-" _That's _a lie, but a small one, and can Phil really blame him? He's coming clean, now, after all, after so damn long. "-but they did, and I think… I think I hear people's souls."

Tony's looking downright interested- Steve sends him a reprimanding glare when he asks excitedly, "Then what're our songs?"

And… that's it. His secret, hidden away, comes to light without even a whimper. It feels surprisingly good.

"You're metal," Clint says with the tiniest hint of a smirk. "Heavy metal. Bruce… is actually really similar, but sometimes different. Like…" He searches for a reference, then gets one. "Like dada music. Not sharp, just discordant."

Bruce lets out a harsh laugh, tinged just so with bitterness. "Is that so surprising?"

"Green Guy has a different music," he says impulsively, kind of surprised because he didn't think he'd reveal that. It wasn't his place… but in the end, it also was, like a circle. The opposite end on a line became joined. "His is actually calmer. More intense, but not as… separate."

Bruce looks like he's been punched in the gut.

Clint turns to Steve, and says, "You're like a piano."

Which sounded a hell of a lot better in his head.

Tony bursts into laughter; Natasha rolls her eyes. Steve just blinks, looking like he's searching frantically for a proper response but can't find one.

"…thank you?"

"It's good music," he assures him, "just classical. Old-school. Very you, I guess, but also… lonely. 'Cause pianos always sound better alone than in a group." He shrugs, lightly, and ignores the steady light of warmth in Steve's eyes.

Thor rumbles in right then, and Tony leaps into an explanation; Natasha just looks at him with too-knowing eyes and a small smile.

"So… what is my music, man of arrows?" Thor booms, and his choir music surges right along with him.

Clint winces minutely, but all he says is, "Choir music. Or… yeah. Really. Just choir music."

Because honestly? He can't imagine any other name for that echoing _monstrosity._

Thor nods slowly, and pulls out a chair for himself. The only people left are Natasha and himself, and Clint pauses.

"Does this have something to do with Bogota?" She asks wryly, eyes gleaming. If anyone took the time to hack her file, they would realize that she's never had a field op in Bogota, because that was the city in which Clint took her in.

They still go back, sometimes, when it all becomes too much- they go back and stand in that place where two lives were balanced on a head of a coin, and somehow both times it didn't fall down heads.

Clint has souvenirs, though. And he's thankful for the cop-out, but he thinks it's time the rest of the team knew at least this small part of their checkered history.

"A little. But mostly…" he hesitates, tells himself to get over himself. They deserve this. "I made a different call that day because I heard you- and you weren't like every other assassin I came across. Most assassins have… sliding music. It just _oozes."_

"And what did I have?" She asks calmly.

Their eyes meet across the table, and for the first time in years, he can't read her. She just watches him carefully.

"A ballet," he whispers.

She freezes, for a split second- if he hadn't been watching her so closely he wouldn't have caught it. But Natasha froze, and looked absolutely shocked for a moment. Her eyes still hold that cautious wariness a moment later.

"But more than that. It wasn't just the music, but the _movement," _he sketches his hands through the air, remembering that moment- the music soared and dipped, like a little baby bird, just learning on its first flight.

It sounded like hope.

"You danced, Nat." He swallows, and bites back the rest of the words. "You _danced."_

She still looks shocked- to those who know her tells, she is absolutely stunned. He waits for her response, amidst the blank looks of his teammates.

She slowly cocks her head to the side a moment later, and asks, "And what about you?"

He quirks a smile. "I can't hear myself."

For the longest time, he wished he could. He'd wanted to know- is he wavering notes, like wind on top of trees, or thundering symphonies, like a god from on-high, or maybe just a quiet lullaby, because that's all he's ever wanted?

Natasha's eyes soften, evergreen to sea.

Stark jumps in, then, loud and brash. It tips over the delicate balance they'd worked towards- but Clint has learned to roll with the punches, so he only laughs.

"You'd be AC/DC. 'Cause you're cool, and-"

"Don't be _ridiculous, _Tony," Steve says incredulously. "He wouldn't-"

"On Asgard, we have the music of war, Archer! You would-"

Natasha laughs, softly, and leans forward to murmur, into his ear, "Call it Pocahontas and I'm sold."

"Thanks, guys," Clint says into the maelstrom surrounding him. They don't really hear the quiet words- Tony and Steve are talking too loud for that, and Thor is just _naturally _ear-splitting, but the sentiment remains, and Bruce smiles tiredly at him for it.

He has a couple more secrets still up his sleeve- they all do.

But Clint thinks that, really, there's no better way to bond than over music and a little bit of truth.

* * *

**Well. This started out one way, and ended up quite different. But... this is a play on how Clint was supposed to be 80% deaf. Or something. Not really sure what- but I got this idea, and ran with it.**

**Dada music is supposed to be rather jarring. Check out a Youtube video: some parts are... crazy. That's what I think of for Bruce- a little crazy, and a lot broken. He's just never had a chance to fix it, and I'm kinda hoping the next Avenger's film takes care of that. He deserves to be fixed, or at least more at-peace with the Green Guy.**

**Hope you guys like it, and if any Quiet Courage fans are reading this: I'm trying to write out the chapter. But this one's really tough. Just hang in there, guys, we'll make it out of this rut sometime soon!**

**Reviews inspire me!**

**-Dialux**


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